


Who I Am

by DizzyDrea



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not having a past meant that he didn't have a legacy; nothing to pass on when the time came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who I Am

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote "Who You Are" in about three hours the day after I watched Famillia. But there was a lot I couldn't put in that story because I told it from Kensi's point of view. Then I realized I could do a companion piece from Callen's point of view. I've never done this before, so it was a great challenge, not to mention a lovely little moment my muse insisted I write. Post-ep for Familia (mentions of Tin Soldiers and Imposters). Companion piece to Who You Are.
> 
> Originally posted at fanfiction.net.
> 
> Disclaimer: NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles and all its particulars are the property of CBS, Paramount, Donald P. Bellisario, Belisarius Productions, Shane Brennan, Shane Brennan Productions, and a lot of other people who aren’t me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

G Callen stood at the window watching the shadows lengthen in the late-day sun. The view wasn't much—the hotel was just a step above a dive—but it was close to the beach house, which was why they had chosen it. And they wouldn't be there long, anyway, so the accommodations hardly mattered.

They were in Romania for one reason and one reason only: to rescue Hetty Lange. Nothing else mattered. He only hoped they weren't too late.

He wasn't sure how they were going to accomplish that. The beach house was on a busy street with a gated drive. The house backed up to the beach, with an unobstructed view of the sand and the ocean beyond. The assault wouldn't be easy. They could try to talk their way in, but if the Comescu family really was gunning for him, he'd be playing right into their hands.

He was sure Sam's SEAL training would provide some insight. He may have already weighed in. They'd been talking about approaches and what might be waiting inside when he'd gotten distracted.

Distracted. He huffed out a laugh. That was a colossal understatement. He'd never lost it on a mission before; never gone completely numb in the field. He didn't like the feeling. He couldn't even remember the trip back to the hotel. He was sure his team had gone out for food a while ago, but if they'd checked with him, he couldn't remember it.

That had him more scared than the possibility that he'd been wrong about who he really was. And realizing that everything that he'd believed about himself might not be true had left him reeling.

He heard the key in the door, followed by quiet footsteps and then the click as the door fell closed. He'd known someone from his team would be along to check in on him, and he knew who he hoped it would be.

Kensi Blye was special. And she was important to him. He'd lived a life in which he'd tried very hard not to need anybody, but somehow he needed her. They were alike in so many ways, and yet as different as night and day. She'd lived the life he'd only dreamed of, and that made him jealous of her at times, but mostly he was just awed by her: her confidence, her determination, her loyalty. Her kindness.

Right now, he wasn't sure he could take that from her. From anybody, really.

He thought about ignoring her. He figured she'd eventually go away when she realized that he didn't want to talk. But that wasn't fair to her. She was worried about him; she wouldn't have come otherwise. But she'd stuck it out this long, watching him stand at the window with his arms crossed, mutely staring into the distance. He had to say something.

"You didn't have to come."

"I know," she said, and he heard her take a step forward. "But I wanted to."

He sighed, tensing up slightly as he heard her walk across the room. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone near him right now. He clenched his jaw, frowning as he considered what she was doing here. She'd probably want to talk, and he didn't know if he could put what he was feeling into words. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but he thought he might not have a choice. 

"What's wrong, G?" she asked, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He tensed some more. He wasn't sure what he wanted right now, but he wasn't sure comfort was it, either.

Her hand retreated, and he relaxed infinitesimally. He knew he wasn't being fair to her. She'd come to help; to offer what support she could. He'd expected her to leave when he'd silently rebuffed her, but she'd stood her ground. She'd always been tougher than she looked, and maybe right now he needed some of that strength. Lord knew it wasn't going to get any easier in the coming days.

So, he did something he'd never done before: he finally let someone in.

"That beach…"

He felt her move closer still as she asked, "What about the beach?"

He held his breath for just a moment, but finally the pull of confession drew the words out of him.

"I've been to that beach."

He felt more than saw her react to his words, though the shock on her face reflected in the window mirrored his own.

"Are you sure it's the same beach?" she asked, the waver in her voice showing her uncertainty. "I mean, beaches tend to look alike, and you were—"

"It was that beach," he said, cutting her off. He winced inwardly, but didn't apologize. "I remember the sign."

And he had, the second he'd seen it on the beach. The memory had leapt into his mind as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. How he hadn't remembered that detail before he'd never know. He couldn't read the language, but that hardly mattered. He knew that was the beach, the one from his memory, the one where the man had given him the antique soldier.

"It's probably a warning. They have those signs all over in LA."

And she was right, of course. But that didn't change the fact that he was sure it was the same beach.

"I remember that sign."

"How is that possible?" she asked, doubt still ringing in her voice. "You grew up in LA. You've traveled all over the world, but you've never been to Romania. Don't even speak the language, as far as I know."

And that, at least, was true. Or so he'd thought. As far back as his memories would go, he could remember Los Angeles, remember the foster homes he'd floated through. Hell, he even owned one of them now. But still, he knew this memory was from right here in Romania, and that made him question how much of what he remembered was real, and how much was just assumptions. Or outright lies.

Still, he needed Kensi to understand. He sighed, dropping his chin onto his chest.

"When I was a kid, I remember being at the beach one day. I was playing in the sand, and this guy walked up to me and handed me an antique toy soldier—you know, like those little green army men, only really old. He had a strange tattoo on his wrist, one I'd never seen before. I've kept the soldier all these years, but I really didn't remember where I'd gotten it until that run in with Arkady a few months ago."

He sighed again, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands deep into his pockets for lack of anything else to do. He'd kept this secret for so long, he felt exposed by the revelation. But he knew Kensi would handle this with the care and concern that she handled everything.

"When I saw Niko dead, I remembered. He was working on another toy soldier when he was killed, and he had the same tattoo on his arm as the man who gave me the first one. I think it was him."

"He could have been trying to trick you, gain your confidence somehow," she said.

He knew she could be right. But if it wasn't him, if he wasn't really the same man from the beach all those years ago, what did he have to gain by perpetuating the charade? He turned and looked at Kensi, and her answering smirk told him she understood.

Nobody fooled G Callen. Nobody.

"I think he was trying to warn me," he said. That at least made some sense. More sense than just about anything else at this point.

"About what?" she asked.

It was a fair question, and one he didn't have an answer to. "This?"

"But why?" she asked. "What reason would he have to warn you? And why not send an actual warning instead of something as cryptic as that toy soldier?"

He shook his head. "I wish I knew. I don't remember much about that day; I wish I did. Maybe there's something about that day that I'm supposed to remember. Maybe that was part of the warning."

Silence enveloped them again, but this time it was an easy silence. Talking with Kensi had helped. At least he didn't feel so alone anymore. The confusion was still there, though. And not just confusion about the situation, and his memories. He found himself unsure of who and what he was. 

He'd always known who he was, or who he was supposed to be anyway. He'd grown up in LA, bouncing from one foster home to the next. That experience had developed within him a need to protect those who couldn't protect themselves; like the boy he'd been. So he'd chosen law enforcement, and set out to be the best agent he could be.

"What if…"

"'What if' what?" she asked.

He inhaled deeply. He hadn't really meant to say that out loud, but…in for a penny…

"What if Vance is wrong? What if I really am the man they want dead?"

He watched as the emotions chased over her face, the mirror of the ones racing through his chest. He hadn't wanted to say it out loud, because somehow that would make it more real, but what if it was true? Who did that make him? Did he even want to know?

The Comescu family was a crime family; that he was certain of. But if that were true, and if he were the last son of a rival family, then that would make him the child of a crime family. The irony was almost more than he could take. And it would turn his idea of who he was on its head. 

"If you are, then you are," Kensi said quietly, breaking into his runaway thoughts. "We'll deal with it. You aren't alone, G."

He smiled at her. She was always trying to rescue people. "Thanks, Kens," he said. His expression turned serious as the doubts crowded in. "But what if it's not that easy? I mean, who does that make me? I thought I knew, but now?"

He'd always wanted—no, needed—to know who he was. It wasn't just that everyone had a past that had helped form them into the people they were today. It was that not having a past meant that he didn't have a legacy; nothing to pass on when the time came. 

He needed to know who he was, and the need had bordered on obsession. He'd known that, but somehow he couldn't stop. He knew it wasn't rational. There might not be anything to know. His records with CPS were spotty, and despite the tantalizing clues he'd found, he was still no closer to knowing who he was than when he'd started his search.

And now? He'd made certain assumptions that, as it turns out, were incredibly wrong. He'd hoped that learning who he really was would be a good thing, but it was turning out to be anything but. And the fact that Director Vance and Agent Hunter were stonewalling him made it seem like his past was something he was better off not knowing about.

He felt rather than saw Kensi come up beside him, felt her hand on his shoulder as she gently urged him to face her. And when he looked into her liquid eyes, he could see the confidence and certainty glowing within.

"You are G Callen. You are the bravest, most loyal man I know. You fight like a wildcat when you know you're right. You and Sam have this crazy brother thing going that defies logic because you're so different. But it works for you. I know you're desperate to know who you are but the thing is, you already do."

She closed the distance between them, placing her hand on his chest, and he was sure she could feel his heart beating wildly under her hand.

"What matters is who you are inside," she went on quietly. "We all have pasts; we all had lives before this one. But the truth of who you are—who we all are—is inside us. And whether you're the son of a police commissioner or a crime lord, it's who and what you are right now that matters. The rest is someone else's problem."

"You sure about that?" he asked, quirking a lopsided grin in an effort to diffuse his body's almost automatic reaction to her proximity.

"Yep," she said, nodding even as she returned his smile. "What can I say? It's a cliché, but like all cliché's, there's always a little truth inside."

The grin slid off his face as he searched her eyes, looking for the trap, the lie in her words. But there was none. Only her conviction stared back at him.

And in that moment, Hetty's last words to him came rushing back. She'd told him that when he couldn't find it in himself to go on in the face of fear, he'd find strength in his team. His friends. And seeing that strength—that utter faith in him—in the form of the woman standing before him, suddenly made him sure of himself in a way he hadn't been since this whole thing had begun.

He didn't have to face it alone. And no matter who or what he turned out to be, the people most important to him wouldn't abandon him. They'd stand by him because they believed in him, no matter what. It was a gift of incalculable value, and one he vowed to never take for granted.

He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and pulled her to him, cradling this precious friend to his chest as he soaked up her strength, allowing himself to lean on her for just a few moments.

Finally, he pulled back, running his hands up her arms to rest on her shoulders.

"Thanks," he said quietly, a world of meaning in just a single word.

"Anytime," she said, and he knew she meant it.

He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. When he pulled back, he watched as she raked her gaze over his face and torso, checking to see if he was still visibly tense. Her words and the hug had drained the last of the stress from him, so he knew when she lifted a satisfied gaze to his eyes that she'd seen what she needed to see. Once again, he found himself grateful for her care of him.

"You hungry at all?" she asked.

He would have answered her, but his stomach beat him to it; the loud grumble causing both of them to chuckle.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said on a smirk. "Sam brought you back something, if you think you can eat."

"Yeah," he said, squeezing her shoulders before letting go. "We can talk about how we're gonna get into that beach house while we're at it."

"You sure you still want to do this?" she asked as they made their way to the door.

"Hetty risked her life to protect me," he said, opening the door for her. "I owe it to her to get her out."

Kensi just nodded. His words weren't meant to be trite. He owed Hetty a lot. But he also knew Kensi would want to hear him say it out loud, as if she needed one last bit of truth from him to confirm that he'd shaken off whatever it was that had grabbed hold of him. They needed him sharp, and he couldn't afford not to be. It wasn't just Hetty's life on the line. He had his whole team to protect, and he'd be damned if he'd fail at that.

~Finis


End file.
